


Carvings

by marcat



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Mentioned Ramsay Bolton, Sansa - Freeform, Sansa-centric, ramsay - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-12
Updated: 2019-05-12
Packaged: 2020-03-02 05:33:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18804739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marcat/pseuds/marcat
Summary: Jon gets a glimpse of Ramsey's handiwork when Sansa arrives at Castle Black.





	Carvings

Ramsay Bolton considered himself an artist.

He worked on his piece every night and reviewed his progress in the morning. He used a very small knife so he could get the details just right. He couldn't work for very long, though - the blood always obscured the picture. No matter how much he wiped at it, there was always more.

He'd call the maestor in to clean the cuts so they wouldn't get infected. He was adamant that the maestor not do too much, though - there must be scarring, otherwise all his work would have gone to waste.

By the time Sansa escaped, Ramsay was nearly finished with the portrait of the flayed man he was carving into her thigh. 

 

Jon couldn't sleep. He never did anymore. In his dreams, he always saw the look in Ollie's eyes as he plunged the knife into his Lord Commander's heart. And then the boy's blue face as he swung dead from the gallows.

He had a reason to stay awake now that Sansa was here. She told him precious little about what had happened to her. Jon had to infer most of it for himself, and his assumptions horrified him. They were all right, of course.

Jon made Ghost sleep in Sansa's room to protect her. He ordered the wolf to follow her wherever she went. Brienne stayed close, too. Sansa felt safe at Castle Black, not because of the direwolf or her sworn protector, but because of her brother. 

Jon was pacing the corridors one night when he walked past Sansa's room. He could see her wiping herself down with a washcloth through a crack in the door. He knew he shouldn't watch, even though Sansa was more or less clothed, but he couldn't look away.

He hardly recognized the spoiled little girl from his childhood. She was a woman now, all softness and curves. He'd noticed the feel of her body when he embraced her. He felt ashamed for it.

He was about to leave when Sansa lifted the hem of her dress to her hip. He shouldn't look. He nearly turned away when something caught his attention. There was a long strip of discolored white cloth wrapped around her thigh from the hip to the knee. He watched her grimace as she unwrapped it. Had she been injured when she fled Winterfell?

The flayed man carved into her skin was healing nicely thanks to the maestor's expertise but it wasn't gone. It would never go away.

Her whole thigh was bruised around the cuts. Scabs had fallen off of some bits while others had barely formed over others. Ramsey had been patient, waiting for his dear wife to heal a bit before each session.

Sansa sucked in a sharp breath through her teeth as she trickled water over the cuts. She bit her lip to keep from crying out. There was nothing she could do to stop the tears. 

Ghost whimpered at her discomfort. Sansa offered the wolf a small smile. "It's not so bad anymore," she told him. She patted him on the head; he licked her hand as she pulled away. She smiled. "If only I'd had you and Jon with me."

Jon's muscles were locked up so he couldn't move. His body vibrated with rage. Sansa was asleep by the time he could walk again. 

But he didn't walk away. He lay down in front of her door and stayed there until the sun came up. He spent the night going in and out of twilight sleep, waking himself up every few minutes to make sure his sister was safe in her bed.

He didn't see Ollie in his dreams that night. He saw his sister cleaning her wounds and crawling into bed. He saw all the things that had brought her there. He'd never seen Ramsay Bolton before, so he couldn't picture the look on that bastard's face when Jon would crush his skull with his bare hands. 

He dreamt of Sansa instead.


End file.
